“Do you know him?” Alan asks.
“Yes, sir.”
Oh, I know him alright.
“How well do youknow him?”
I smile, but it hurts. “We have some history.”
Alan glances at me, suddenly serious. “Is it going to be a problem?”
And the frustrating thing is, Iwantto say yes. It’s going to be a huge problem. This is a terrible idea, and I’d rather light the building on fire than be in the same place as Matt Whitlock.
But I don’t. This is my job. I’m doing this for myself, and not only that, but I’m doing it well. I won’t let him take that away. I won’t let him change the way everyone looks at me.
“No,” I lie smoothly. “It won’t be a problem.”
Alan moves on, discussing the logistics and scheduling behind the whole operation. I nod, smile, and jot down notes, my voice agreeing along perfectly PR steady. But inside? Inside, I’m fucking screaming.
Of course they’re sending Matt. Of course the universe would send the one person I never wanted to see again, especially when I was finally feeling okay. Maybe even happy.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Matt isGame Day’s golden boy. He’s their lead journalist. Theywouldsend him to cover something like this, but I can’t shake the feeling that he probably wanted to come. Hell, this entire thing was probably his idea. Even if it wasn’t, there’s no way he didn’t volunteer for it.
I barely make it back to my office before the mask cracks. The door shuts behind me, and I toss my notebook and pen on the desk like they are infected. I stand up against the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled up against my chest.
I can’t breathe. My chest is tight, like someone is pushing down on it with both hands.
Matt is coming here. And soon. He’ll be in the locker room. In all my meetings. At training. At matches. Just standing beside me everywhere I go with that fake smile and snake-oil charm that will fool everyone else, and I’ll look like the crazy one. He’ll spend all his time pretending we don’t have a history full of betrayals and bruises he never had to wear.
The tears come fast and I can’t stop them. I feel everything. Rage. Fear. Exhaustion. He’s taken so much from me already, and now he’s going to be here, in the place I’m trying to rebuild my life. No matter where I run, I can’t escape him.
I hate that I’m falling apart. I hate that he still has this power over me.
The locker room is filled with the usual post-training chatter. Everyone’s hyped up after a good session and just waiting for dismissal for the day. I’m already showered and changed, just sitting in my stall with my bag at my feet.
“Alright, lads,” Gaffer says, clapping his hands to grab our attention. Everyone quiets and looks toward the front of the room where he and Stan are gathered. “We’ve got some big news for you. You all know what kind of season we’re having, what our goal is. It’s so close we can taste it. Well, lads, everyone’s noticing. There’s an American show,Game Day, that’s sending one of their top journalists to follow the team for the rest of the season.”
“Oh, fuck me,” I mutter under my breath, not loud enough for anyone to hear. This has to be a joke.
“They’re going to have full access to everything. The locker room, training, matches, everyone here. They’ll be arriving next week. Full camera crew. This is going to be huge for the club.”
Theroom reacts with excitement. The lads start talking over one another. Everyone is buzzing about the cameras, the interviews, and all the extra exposure.
Everyone except me. I hate the idea of journalists having full access to the team. Cameras following us everywhere. I hate the idea of more eyes on me, digging up stories and talking to my family.
Then it hits me—the combination of the words “Game Day” and “journalist.”
“Wait,” I cut through the excitement buzzing in the room. “Who is coming?”
Gaffer doesn’t seem to notice the shift in my tone. He probably assumes it’s my usual aversion to cameras and attention seeping in, which is fair, to be honest.
He glances down at his information sheet. “Matt Whitlock.”
Fuck.
It’s like everything goes quiet for a second, and I’m back at the pub, remembering Addison’s story, and everything she went through with him.
I’m furious all over again. Of course it’s him. Of course it’s the smug, self-righteous bastard that, despite having never met, I hate with every fiber of my being. The thought of him being near Addison again makes my stomach churn.
